Chapter 4 Kensie #2
He hums in approval at my use of that word, then holds a hand to help me up. “I think I’d like to see you bent over tonight,” he says easily. “I want a good view of that ass while I turn it red.”
I want to whimper at his words, but I keep myself silent and still. Submissive, the way he said he likes.
He leads me over to a leather bench. I’m very aware of how naked I am right now, with him still fully dressed. It adds to the power imbalance, making heat flow to my core.
That heat increases dramatically when he presses my back, forcing me to bend over the bench. Now I’m naked and exposed, with my ass on display. I’m completely at his mercy and that soothes something deep inside me—and turns me on like crazy.
He adjusts the legs of the bench, raising it slightly. “You look so good stretched out like this,” he murmurs. “Those heels are killing me, kitten.”
He’s killing me. Why can’t he go faster?
He moves with painful slowness, pulling my hands behind my back then slipping leather cuffs over my wrists. He secures them together, then pulls a leather strap from the bottom of the bench, fastening it around my middle.
“I should restrain you like this more often,” he says. “Knowing you can’t move makes my dick hard.”
“I can take care of that for you,” I mutter, peevish that we haven’t started yet. He responds with a sharp smack to my ass.
“Don’t sass me,” he barks. “And what do you call me in this room?”
“Sir,” I say, gasping as he smacks me again. He’s not gentle about it, his palm stinging when it makes contact. But I only feel warmth and relief. This is what I want.
“Let’s see how you do with a crop,” he says. “I think you get ten for that little remark.” There’s a nearly silent whistle in the air before I feel a different kind of sting on my skin. It has more of a bite, but he doesn’t use as much force as he did with his hand.
“Count,” he barks, and I manage to gasp out the word one.
He uses the crop again, on my other cheek, then a third time, on my upper thighs. I whimper as I count out the strikes. He’s consistent with his force, controlled. I know he could be using that crop way harder.
Nevertheless, my ass is stinging by the time I get to ten. He tosses the crop aside and leans over me. “That’s good,” he murmurs, his hand coming out to run over my heated skin. “Such a good girl, Kensie.”
I shiver at his words, liking them too much.
That’s not what this is supposed to be, though. I didn’t come here for sweet words and gentle caresses. I came here because I need to be punished.
I wiggle my ass a little, hoping to entice him to get back to it. “I’m not feeling like a very good girl right now, sir.”
He chuckles softly. “No, my girl is feeling bratty, isn’t she?”
I order my body not to react to him calling me his girl. Or the fact that he’s still running his hands over me, his touch gentle on my skin.
What the hell is he doing? This is bordering on sweet. And sweet has never been part of our deal.
“Sir,” I whine, wiggling some more. “Please.”
“Be still,” he commands, that low edge to his voice that I love so much.
I wiggle even more, sticking my ass back. Maybe if I’m bratty enough, he’ll give me what a want—a real spanking.
“I said be still,” he grunts, smacking me. I bite back a moan at the sensation. That’s more like it.
But then he steps back and I nearly scream out loud. Why is he stopping?
“Who’s in charge in this room, Kensie?” he asks.
“You are, sir,” I manage to bite out, even though there’s a huge part of me that wants to call him names, scream, do something to make him lose control and give me the punishment that I need.
“That’s right.” Suddenly he’s in front of me, crouching low so I can see his face.
His eyes are hard, jaw set. “And that means I decide what happens to that ass. I decide if you get spanked tonight, and how I want to do it. I decide when we fuck and I definitely decide when you come. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, trying so hard to tamp down the frustration. There’s a part of me that feels close to tears, and I’m desperate to hold them back. If I start crying on his bench, I know there’s no way he’s going to continue.
His face softens. “You’re very frustrated tonight, aren’t you?”
I nod once, sure that if I speak, I’ll break.
Again, he runs a gentle hand over my skin, along my neck this time, and I don’t know if I want to shy away from his hand or sink into the touch.
“Okay, kitten,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the side of my mouth. “Why don’t you tell me what you want then, and we’ll see what we can do.”
“I want your belt,” I blurt out, and his eyebrows go up. He’s never hit me with such a painful implement.
“Okay. What else?”
“I want…” the rest is harder to say, harder to even organize these chaotic thoughts in my mind.
“You can tell me,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to my mouth. “You’re being such a good girl, you can—”
“Not that,” I interrupt, then curse myself. Interrupting a Dom is a huge no in this place. I know better.
But Grant’s eyes remain impassive, studying me. “Not what, exactly?”
“That…those words. Praise.” I say it like it’s a dirty word. “I don’t want praise.”
His eyebrows jump up. “You usually enjoy praise when we’re fucking. Your cunt gets so nice and wet.”
Heat rushes to my center, as it always does when this man uses such deliciously naughty words.
I fight to focus. “Not tonight,” I whisper, praying he doesn’t ask me why. “Please.”
He watches me again. “You want my belt and you don’t wanted to be praised,” he finally says. “Anything else?”
“I… I want…” God, why is this so hard? I’m in a BDSM dungeon with a man I only see for sex, for fucks sake. I should be able to say the words.
“Tell me,” he says, quiet, but that bite of command is there under the surface. The command that my body finds impossible to ignore. Today is no exception.
“I want you to call me names,” I whisper.
He nods, like it’s no big deal. “You want some degradation while we’re playing?”
“Please," I moan. “I want…a lot of it.” I meet his eyes, finding them dark and expressionless. I can’t read him, and it makes my heart pound harder. “I don’t want you to hold back.”
“With my belt or with my words?”
A full body shudder goes through me. “Neither.”
His eyes dart around my face, like he’s trying to figure something out. Finally, he nods, once, and steps out of my immediate space.
The dungeon is nearly silent for a long moment, the only sound my panting breaths. The longer he remains silent and out of sight, the more my anticipation ramps up. Then I hear it, finally—the sound of leather sliding through his belt loops, the jangle of the metal buckle.
“Stay still.” It’s the only warning I get before the leather is slicing through the air. His belt hits my skin and oh my God. This is nothing like his hand, or the crop. This is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. I let out a yelp, unable to stop myself, and he immediately hits me again.
“Quiet,” he demands. “Take your punishment like a good little slut.”
Another strike and I bite back my yell. The pain is sharp, so sharp, and I’m suddenly wondering if I can actually do this. But then he hits me again, right in the same spot, and I cry out, unable to stop myself.
“If you can’t control yourself, maybe I’ll have to spank you harder,” he says, perfectly calm, like this is having no effect on him. I take deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. I don’t realize there are tears running down my face until I taste the salt on my lips.
As I wait for the next strike, the sting on my ass fades, replaced with a slow spreading heat. It feels so good, almost making the bite of pain that comes next worth it.
The same sensation spreads through me as the latest sting fades. Intense warmth and an exhilarating pleasure that I find hard to describe.
“No more tears?” he asks, voice as wicked as I’ve ever heard it. “I’ll definitely have to use more force.”
“Yes, sir,” I plead. If it feels this good now, I can only imagine a harder strike will increase that addictive pleasure heat.
He chuckles and brings the belt down again, then again, not giving me time to rest in between. Again. It’s definitely harder, the sting more intense, but I can handle it. I can do this crazy, filthy thing I begged for, and that fills me with the strangest sense of accomplishment.
“Let’s see if the dirty girl likes this,” he mutters, his voice a little strained now. That makes me feel good too, the acknowledgment that this is having an effect on him.
That’s the only warning I get before his fingers thrust into my pussy. I moan, unable to stop myself.
“You’re drenched,” he rasps. “Does that mean you like your spanking?”
“Yes, sir!”
He adds another finger, laughing low and dark at the noise I make. “You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you kitten?” He bites out. “Desperate to be fucked.”
“Yes, sir.”
His fingers disappear as suddenly as they entered me and there’s another strike of the belt, the hardest yet, and I scream.
“Quiet,” he snaps. “You asked for this.” Another sharp lick of leather. “Fucking begged for it. And now you’re going to wiggle and cry like you aren’t a dirty little whore who gets off on being whipped?”
This, I think, warmth spreading through my chest. This is exactly what I needed.
He steps in front of me again, grabbing my chin roughly, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut or I’ll call a friend in to stuff it for you. You want to suck some stranger’s cock while I use my belt on you?”
I shudder, unsure if that sounds terrifying or intriguing. I’d checked off multiple men on the survey he provided all those months ago, but I hadn’t expected it to happen now. Like this.
“I can do that if I want to,” he says, voice low, eyes flashing like he’s reading my mind, sensing my uncertainty. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a pretty little toy for me to use however I want.” His grip on my chin tightens. “I own you.”
My core clenches, and I wonder if I could come just from these filthy words. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t fucking forget it.”
Then he’s behind me again, his belt biting into my ass cheeks over and over again while he says the filthiest things, all about how he owns me and what a slut I am, how dirty, useless, only good for one thing—taking his punishments and his cock.
I’m delirious with how good it feels.
Suddenly his hands are gripping my hips, tugging me back over the leather, tilting my ass as far as the straps and my position will allow. Before I can even get my bearings, he’s shoving inside me, his cock so big, stretching me without warning, that I can’t help but cry out again.
This time, he doesn’t tell me to be quiet.
“That’s right,” he grunts, already starting a punishing pace, his hips slapping into my reddened bottom. “Scream while I shove this big cock inside you.”
God, he’s perfect like this. Exactly what I wanted—more than I could have hoped for.
Grant grabs my hair, wrapping it around his fist and groaning when he pulls my head back, causing my back to arch.
“You have no idea how you look right now,” he pants out. “Ass red from my belt, tied up and helpless, taking every inch of my dick.” He tugs harder on my hair, the sharp sting making me gasp. “You belong to me, Kensie. This cunt and this body. You’re fucking mine.”
There’s something in his voice, some hint of possession or satisfaction that goes way beyond the games we play. I’m not sure how I feel about it so I push the thought away, determined to stay in the moment. The filthy, mind-blowingly good moment.
“Are you close?” he demands.
I whine, trying to wiggle back into him. He laughs, the sound cruel.
“You need more, don’t you? Greedy slut needs me to touch her clit?”
“Yes, please,” I cry.
He laughs again. “I don’t think so. You’re just my little toy, remember? I don’t give a fuck if you come or not. This is about me.” A particularly hard thrust into my depths has me whimpering. “You’re here to serve me. To get me off. Not the other way around.”
“Yes, sir,” I moan, and fuck, the words actually have me approaching the edge. Between the relentless, ruthless snap of his hips against me, the heat and pain still radiating from my ass, and the cruel, objectifying words—it’s all too much.
“You’re gonna come,” he groans. “I can feel your cunt flutter around me. Fuck, you really are a dirty girl, aren’t you? Who else would come from being treated like a filthy whore?”
That’s it. I’m done. I spiral over the edge without his permission, way too far gone to care.
Behind me, I hear him roar out a yell, his hot release flooding inside me.
That only prolongs my own orgasm, especially when he leans over to groan into my ear.
“Take every drop like the little cumslut you are.”
Perfect.
Every sensation, every word. It’s exactly what I needed tonight. The relief I feel is almost as intense as the pleasure.
It takes a few moments—or hell, maybe longer—for me to come back to myself.
He’s moved us to an imposing velvet-cushioned chair, and I’m on his lap, cradled tight in his arms. His heart is beating fast under my ear, so I suppose not too much time has passed.
It’s hard to say though, not when I’m in that gloriously floaty, relaxing state that follows such an intense scene. Subspace, they call it.
As I become more aware of what’s happening around me, I realize that he’s running a hand through my hair, over and over. His lips press against the top of my head, my forehead, anywhere he can reach.
Then his words finally reach me.
“You’re so good,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl for me, Kensie. So brave and strong, telling me what you want, taking all of it.”
My body goes rigid, the remaining wisps of subspace disappearing like cotton candy in water. The words he’s saying, the tenderness, the praise—I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to deal with it.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, more than a little bit of awe in his voice.
And that’s when I burst into tears.